Horses, Books, and Sanity

by L. R. Trovillion

I'm only sane because I write and I ride. I see that now.

All last year during a particularly difficult period wherein my horses became unrideable, I swore to anyone who would listen that I had bought my last horse. Friends and family smiled, nodded, and disbelieved me. I was speaking the truth. I'd had my heart broken for the last time. I was done.

A week or so ago I accepted the invitation of a friend to ride a horse at his barn. When I arrived and was shown a very tall, red Thoroughbred ex-racer waiting in the cross ties, I asked myself "What woman of a certain age gets on an OTTB when she hasn't slung a leg over a horse in more than a year?" Well, I'll tell you. A woman who has lost a sense of self preservation or one who is sad over having lost a part of herself. After a short ride (the limit for my out-of-shape muscles) I got off, but wasn't ready to leave. The identity of being a Rider came back to me both barrels and ripped open that plugged up place in my heart which had convinced me that riding was a thing of the past, time to move on, close the book. No. I am a rider--maybe not a great one or even a good one, but that's who I am.

Something inside woke up and took notice. That something got plucked once again this week as I was reading Elizabeth Gilbert's work on creative living, Big Magic. In a passage about persistence I read words that leapt off the page and slapped me in the face. She was talking to me. Gilbert likens the creative mind to a border collie dog. You must give it a job--something to do--or it will find  a job you won't much like, such as tearing up the couch. I laughed, how true! But then she hit home, writing about herself: "...if I am not actively creating something, then I am probably actively destroying something (myself, a relationship, or my own peace of mind)."  I reflected on this. Think of the "creative temperament" here--the many artists and writers who self-destruct. The creative minds that don't create,  destroy. But Gilbert gives those in pursuit of the creative life hope instead of hopelessness. She goes on to explain how creating something gives us an escape. Creating lets us forget for a while our duties, failures, age, backgrounds, enemies and insecurities. Certainly other things in life can do this as well, but by completely absorbing our attention in the act of creating something, for a short and "magical spell" we temporarily relieve ourselves from the "burden" of everyday being.  (And as writers, with our stories, hopefully we can relieve others as well.)

So, back to the myth of the tortured artist. As Gilbert points out, it is not creativity that turns people crazy, but rather not expressing it that threatens one's sanity; in other words, repressing who and what you are. So despite the difficulty, the discomfort, the heartbreak and the fear, I am going to do what I must to safeguard my sanity by being both a Rider and a Writer.

Where Does Creativity Come From?

by Lisa Trovillion

A writer friend of mine powered out the whole second half of her novel in a matter of two months, tops. I think it took me several years to crank out the painful first draft of mine. Perhaps this novel writing business goes quicker with time and experience. Perhaps. Or maybe she is just more creative than I am. Yeah, that's got to be the answer, I decide. My writer paranoia kicks in.  I'm just not creative enough!

All kidding aside, it made me think about the nature of creativity, where ideas come from, and what spurs imagination. What part of the brain is responsible for creativity and why are some people just so much better at it than others? Wouldn't it be terrific if you could do something to fire off that part of the brain at will or drink something (I know what you're thinking) to access it easier? Well, I started looking into that very question.  Apparently, I'm not the only one interested because if you do an Amazon search for "creativity" and the "brain" it will give you a list of 2,902 titles. Lots of research has been done on this question. As a result of my amateur self-study course into neuroscience, I discovered two books which stand out in not only their description of the brain's function in imagination and creativity, but also how you can take steps to access and improve those areas. The titles are: How to Think Like Leonardo da Vinci by Michael Gelb and Your Creative Brain by Shelley Carson.

And yet, there is still a missing component in this pursuit of creative excess...and that is discipline and persistence. I've found that creativity is like a pump; you have to prime it first before it starts to work. That priming includes putting things into your brain that are interesting, beautiful, challenging, even upsetting, in order to get it working and churning and pumping out something. You also have to be open to everything around you all the time--to notice things, even the every day things. Lastly, you have to use creativity like a muscle to strengthen it. When I force myself to sit down and come up with something, I am still surprised that the more I do it, the faster ideas come to mind. So, until we find a means of directly tapping into the creativity center of the brain at will, we writers will have to keep "butt in seat, fingers on keyboard" and brain open to the creative muse.

What's your muse and how do you access it best?

Make Readers Care by Lisa Trovillion

Ideas.  Where do they come from? I maintain that all creative ideas spring from one’s own experience. Whether you are a writer who dreams up imaginary worlds full of fanciful creatures and apocalyptic events, or a writer who drops characters into a precise historical setting, the story you create comes in part from your own experience.  What we hope to do as writers is make the reader care. Care about something! In order to do that, you have to reach down inside and find that thing--maybe hiding in a dark corner of your memory--and drag it out for all to see.  It can be hard. It can be embarrassing.  Maybe even a bit painful.  But if we’re committed to making others care, we have to rely in some measure on our own truest emotions and experiences. And that doesn’t necessarily have to mean unpleasant experience. There are writers who lift us up, make us laugh, give us a sense of hope and inspiration. But to do so they are still stirring the embers of their past experiences, no doubt.  So now, while reading a book, I often wonder how much of it was “true” for the writer.  I suspect it was the portions that touched me the most.  How much of your novel is true?  How “true” is your story and where do your ideas come from?  Below, a picture of my Oldenburg mare, Dorrie, pondering whether she'll feature in my next novel.